Cinnamon Warmth
by iiea
Summary: Author Hijirikawa Masato is well on his way for writing his next book, but can't escape the grasp of writer's block. With nothing but the city lights around him in the midsummer warmth, he catches a glimpse of something he wants to describe as inviting and comfortable as cinnamon. Desperate, he needs to be surrounded in that warmth for inspiration. Rated M, lovingly.


"Oh my gosh, Masato," the eccentric redhead exasperated, throwing her hands up to emphasize her point, "You've really done _nothing_." Her complaints were all a null as the the man sitting at his desk ran a hand through his raven tresses, sighing.

"Tomochika, this writing thing isn't as easy as you want it to be. When I'm not feeling it, I really _don't feel it._" His eyes were weary after looking at a computer screen all day, trying to write the next book of his series. But after countless words typed, deleted, and retyped, he was pushing for an unknown deadline. He had written two chapters. If the flame headed and hearted woman screeching at him thought that was an easy feat, she needs to feel one percent of the desperation as he is.

"Masato," Tomochika began, but stopped, as if her words weren't even enough to fathom her need for this book to happen soon, but much rather _now._ "Look," her mouth moved again after reconsidering her choice of diction.

"I get your in your little writer's block and all, but people are waiting for this book to come out and be amazing. I can't afford your work to be emotionless and dull." Her fingers twitched as she was getting more and more irritated. Masato knew it wasn't him she was mad at, but the company stressing her out, but the constant yelling and pushing was frustrating him that he was on the receiving end of her anger.

"Hell, I'd rather you have written one mind-blowing sentence than two useless and poor excuses of books. But, with the company and all, that's what we're needing. We need you to just write, and we can edit it later when you're out of your slump." Tomochika's lips parted to speak more, but the familiar ring of her phone cut her off in the right time of the moment.

Sighing and rolling her eyes, she fished her purse for two more rings until she produced the source of that God awful noise. Just seeing it gave Masato a searing headache. Silence filled his office as red curls tilted left in direction to the slight murmuring from the device. A few seconds passed before she let out a dull hum of agreement and hung up.

"There's a dinner tonight with the department," her lips pursed to focus on placing the cellphone back in its original place before her burning amber eyes met cool and soothing night ones. "This is a chance for you to clear your head and get some fresh air. Who knows, it might spark something looking at the night lights or some other crap as sentimental as such," she shrugged, walking towards the door, much to Masato's relief. Over her shoulder she called: "Go to the usual Italian place downtown at seven!" and there was the long awaited _click_ of the door and one man sat alone in his large office.

He blinked for the information to sink down and register. Heaving another large sigh, the raven haired author interlocked his fingers before stretching his lithe arms upwards in a much needed stretch and change of position. He could've sworn he felt about six joints all ripple in unison, or close to such. Standing, he finally reached his full height of six feet and two inches, and twisted in an unusual position to get rid of the numb pain radiating in his buttocks.

_Maybe Tomochika was right, _Masato pondered as he walked across the white marble tiled of his office to the door entering to the halls leading to the rest of his flat. _Maybe I just need a change of scenery to get me going. I've gotten too used to the view from my office_.

Masato lived on the twentieth floor of a condo complex near the outskirts of downtown Tokyo. Due to his past success in writing, he succeeded in scoring the money to buy a luxury flat in what he thought was the perfect placed complex. Not too into the mess that was downtown, not into the unexciting place surrounding it. A lot of quiet bars and cafes were surrounding his building, a comfortable bustle always apparent on the streets below, giving a cozy vibe in the colder months and a free feeling in the warmer ones.

When finally reaching his closet, he stepped inside to do a once over of his nicer looking shirts and pants. Nothing really stood out as very appealing at the moment, despite the wanton to do actually get a chance to leave his condo. He had been in the same sweats and t-shirt since yesterday and suddenly felt disgusting. The digital clock placed on the island in the middle of the room that held all of his accessories read a quarter till six.

He looked back to the shirts and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror about four feet away from him. Doing a second take, Masato was astonished at what he saw. Hair disheveled as it hadn't been washed in days, face gooey and greasy from the lack of proper sleep and eyes dark with fatigue. Masato needed a shower before anything else.

Turning the knob to a good medium between hot and cold, he stripped of his clothes to reveal the flat plane of a stomach that just more skinny than muscular, and the dip beside his hipbones to draw a v into between his legs. His shoulders were boney and his back was ripe with defined curves. The crevice of his clavicle was deep and the bone protruded a bit more than the next guy,with a toned shadow that led to his prominent jaw.

Climbing in, Masato let out a sigh of happiness under the liquid heaven. It felt nice to become clean after days of being confined to his stuffy office, though very spacious. Grabbing a sponge and his heady scented body wash, he squirted out a generous amount to make up for all the days he hasn't bathed. It instantly lathered as he rubbed it across the planes of his chest and then the rest of his body.

Mind too filled with absent thoughts, Masato distracted filled his palm with the fresh scented shampoo and began to fingercomb his hair with the gell and massaged his head tenderly. For a while, the now-finally-calm author stood underneath the heat, breathing in the steam while his body was washed clean of all foam and lather.

Turning off the water, he opened his heavy-lidded eyes and grabbed a towel to dry off with, stepping out of the cubicle that was his shower with the cloth wrapped around his waist onto memory foam carpet that was music and sweet to his feet. Just as he predicted, this carpet would never fail him.

Walking out into cooler airs, his skin prickled with the colder sensation, but feeling fresh at the same time. Masato's long awaited shower was twenty minutes and he had a little under an hour to get to that dinner. Night-colored eyes were now refreshed and awake as he easily picked out something comfortable, yet professional to wear. The shirt was a dark maroon, effortlessly bringing out his hues in a very subtle way that matched the tone of the dimlit restaurant. His pants were a bit clingy to the thighs, yet showed their length magnificently.

Looking in mirror at his reflection, creamy skin was supple and was scented now with a classy cologne, one of his favorites, as a matter of fact. It was masculine and very attractive to his nose, not like the cloudy and heavy scents that the appearance oriented brands sold. This was a rare gem amongst the writer's collection. Nonetheless, he can't be too obsessed with this, he needed to get going.

Now arriving to the crisp smelling lobby of his complex, he opted for taking a cab rather than his own car. Luckily, one was dropping off one of his, Masato guessed, neighbors. They stunk like alcohol and cigarette smoke, and he crinkled his nose in turn. Climbing in the cab, the man was reluctant to bare his nose to a closed space with that stench. To his surprise, the car was smelling of fresh leather and the city around him.

"Where can I take you?" the driver said very lamely, like it was almost his time to get off work and climb into a deep abyss of sleep. Masato produced a card with the restaurants address on it from his wallet and placed it on the compartment between the two front seats.

"Il Giardino, please." his response was curt and short, not wanting to make this last any longer than it needs to be. A faint tap could be heard as the driver typed the address into his GPS. Waiting for it to locate and produce navigation, he looked at his shoulder to his customer.

"There's a block from the main road to the strips, I'll have to let you walk when we reach it. It's about three blocks from Il Gairdon," his words were raspy and it made Masato wince the way his mouth formed a terrible mispronunciation of _Il Giardino._ Pursing his lips, he nodded, his silky hair shifting with the movement in sync with his head.

Just as expected, the traffic was terrible, and the cab was a few six blocks from the restaurant. Masato read his sterling silver watch: _6:43_. Heaving a sigh and withdrawing his wallet, nimble fingers handed the fare for the ride thus far and climbed out, not even giving a word of warning. He just had no patience for things like this, and he'd rather walk than look at his watch teasingly tick seconds by.

Now on the sidewalk with other downtown-goers, he began to make his way towards the restaurant he was due at in a little over fifteen minutes. Unbuttoning the first two buttons of his shirt, he revealed more of his creamy skin to let air reach his chest as he strode through people. It wasn't as busy as it could be on a Friday night. Just a lot of noise from cars and people talking. The raven-haired man found it a bit relaxing as he slowed his pace a bit to savor in the basking of nightlights.

He continued at a sort of stroll, but with purpose, seeing if any of the luminous colors sparked something in his mind for future reference. The sight alone was needed for his book, vivid and warm and inviting. Eyes matched the color of the lit up sky, pausing to breathe all exciting smells and hotness of the air surrounding him.

"You're here _finally_!" A familiar bounce of a mess of red curls shot straight up as Masato slid into an empty seat next to one of his six editors, Jiiro. He flashed a smile to the rest of the table before sipping the ice-cool water that soothed the humidity evident on his body.

"What took you so long?" Jiiro looked towards him, dark eyes looking darker in the dim lights of the setting. It almost looked romantic. Masato scoffed at the thought.

"You didn't notice all the barriers surrounding the strips from the main road? I had to walk six blocks just to get here," he took another drink of water, hot just from the thought. Something delicious and mouthwatering filled his nostrils as a large plate of spaghetti was set in front of him, and everyone else at the table. _Real food_, he savored as hands wasted no time to find a fork and knife and dig in.

"So, how's the writer's block? Any better?" someone inquired from the other side of the table, but Masato wasn't looking up to distinguish who.

"Oh, you know. It's getting a little better. Masato actually produced two chapters today, compared to what he did last time. It's getting there," Tomochika answered for him, not even waiting for him to register the question and swallow. There was sound of approval from the surrounding workers, who were eagerly eating almost as feverishly as Masato was.

"Well, we'll be expecting something to edit soon, then," Yura, another one of the six editors joked obviously and chuckled at her own joke, before going back to her plate.

The rest of the evening was enjoyed by dessert and champagne and coffee afterwards. Now out on the sidewalk in front of _Il Giardino,_ there was a sudden murmur of a second round. None of them were as drunk or tingly or satisfied as they had wanted to get out of this night, agreement was made to go to their friend's bar and fix their predicament.

On the way down many stores, drunken crowds, and noisy teenagers, they filed into the stairs and immediately took a patio table, risen about three feet off the ground of the sidewalk from whence they just came. A slur of names of drinks were being conversed as they each decided on what to intake as their first.

Masato personally liked beer, not very keen on all the colorfulness of other alcohols or the burning or stinging in the back of the throat. His eyebrows furrowed as he turned to find an unpleasant potent stench of the mixed alcohols from inside. He was glad they were sitting outside where they could at least get a breeze. In the background was some nameless song by some nameless indie band that set the carefree mood of the bar. It was pleasant and welcoming and dulling of his terminal headache from trying to find a muse to fuel his writing.

Taking a sip of his beer, Masato leaned forward to rest his elbows on the clean dark wood table, eyeing the people bustling about the streets.

"Haruka! Wait!" a yell amongst the crowd gathered his attention. Upon the crowd, a swirl of molten and shimmering amber-gold gleamed in the city lights. There was a laugh emitted from the burst of colors as she walked onto the crosswalk to cross the street. The crosswalk meter beeped warningly as the flashing of DON'T WALK came to a sudden halt.

Quickly running to the side of the strip Masato was on, he got a full view of her. Oh God, he was awestruck by her eyes alone, and he couldn't look away, drowning out everything surrounding his vicinity. The way her full lips pulled to reveal a very fitting smile made him drag out a ragged breath as he lit up inside.

And, just for a moment,

Her eyes met his.


End file.
